PunchOut! Little Mac tells all
by brickthrower 21
Summary: In which Mac talks all about his imfamous career. a simple character interveiw fic. completed!
1. Chapter 1

Hi. My name is Mac Hartey, otherwise known as Little Mac, and I'm one of the best boxers in the WVBA world circuit.

Man, I can't belive we're actually doing this. I thought I'd end up being ignored just cause I'm kinda short, just like the old days…

Aw. Who I'm kidding? I'm too good to be ignored. Come on, first question.

What's the secret to my success? Man, that's what everyone's asking me! You guys keep asking that question like I've got some kind of super power or magic potion tucked away somewhere. Well, seeing as this is my first interview, I'll be nice and tell ya. And all you other boxers out there should listen up too, cause this is important. We're talking life changing here. The secret to winning at boxing is… Don't suck at boxing.

Nah, I'm joking! I'm no jerk. Okay, the truth is, I'm just good at tactics. It's all tactics. I just look at my opponent, look for the openings and then… wham. I give them a mac-flurry, so to speak. I mean, these guy's punches leave themselves open so often, it's like they suddenly forget the meaning of defence. I always keep up my defence. Switched on, 24/7. If I see you arm move, I'm dodging, and you better keep your eyes open, or I'll be all over you before you even finish winking. You'll go from facing the mac to facing the mat in a split second.

And of course, I gotta give thanks to my friends, my family, my girl- you keep yourself safe, Mackenzie, and I'll keep myself untouched!- for giving me all the support. But the big thanks has gotta go to Doc. Doc, you belived in me even though I wasn't exactly the toughest looking guy in the world and 200 other trainers said I had no chance. And for that, you'll always be my right hand man. You're still my hero.

How'd I meet Doc? Man, now that's a story for the ages. Like I said, I was moping around in the Bronx after being rejected by some stuck-up trainer again. It was always the same three excuses- "You're too small, your punches aren't strong enough, and you can't take a beating." The three bullshits, I call them. So, anyway, I'm just kicking cans around, feeling crappy about myself when I see this black guy arguing with one of the local hard guys on the street corner, says he wants the hard guy to stop hanging around his house. The black guy is obviously new around here. Things are getting nasty, so I try to get there before the shit hits the fan. But the hard guys must have had a attack of the munchies, cause then he grabs the black guy's choclate, and the black guy grabs him and wrestles it back. This being the Bronx, where fights can break out over dimes, next thing you know the black guy's getting nailed. So I run in, punch the hard guy in the face, he staggers back and tells me to "fuck off, you bloody midget."

And you NEVER call me a midget. No one does.

So after I make the hard guy take back his death wish, black guy's up, slapping me on the back, munching his chocolate, and he starts reminiscing, says I remind him of the days when he was in the ring, when "boxing was fighting, backed by technique." And then he goes on about his caeer, but I was still kinda pissed over that trainer rejecting me, and I'm like, screw this, I've got better things than listen to crazy old guys, and black guy says "You know who I am?" and I go "erm, fat Albert?" and he goes "I'm Doc Louis, fool!"

I admit that was the low point of my entire life. I've had grade F's that made me feel more intelligent than I did that very moment. The sky fell on my head right there. Doc Louis used to be a big boxing legend, and I had just insulted him. Yeah, real smooth for a boxing fanatic.

I'm telling ya, I practically begged for forgiveness back then. And I think the choclae must have gone to his head, cause he just took one look at me and he says "It's okay. I forget I'm not as famous as I used to be." And then he invites me into his house.

So there I am, almost drooling over trophies, boxing gloves, old photos of even older matches, and Doc asks me if I like boxing. Well, duh. He tells me he thinks I could really clean up in the WVBA. I tell him I'd love too, but I don't have a trainer cause they all think I'm too small and weak. Talk about throwing petrol onto the fire. Doc exploded with rage- he ranted and raved about how the WVBA had been corrupted by commercialism, how it's more about intimation than skill these days, and how they'll even allow cheating to go unnoticed if it brings bigger crowds.

I try to calm him down, but he keeps going on, and he's yelling he'd sort them all out if he hadn't had to retire due to back problems, and how he'd help anyone, just anyone, if they would just give him just one more chance to set the WVBA straight.

I don't know how I managed to say it, but I said: "Doc… would you teach me?"

He stared at me like I just offered to sell him the holy grail, then he grabs me by the shoulders and asks me if I've got what it takes to be the best. I tell him I AM the best. He smiles, slaps me on the shoulder and asks me my name. I tell him it's Mac. He looks me in the eye, smiles even more and says: "Congratulations, Mac baby. The best fighter just got the best trainer. You, Mac, are gonna make history! When they talk about boxing, they'll talk about Little Mac, the best boxer in the whole damm business!"

I swear my brain must have shut down at that point, because I couldn't remember anything else that happened that day. Heck, the next thing I can remember was complaining about how Doc's gym smelt, which was powerful enough to make me reliase that this was no dream.

Now you can say what you like about Doc. He might give some weird advice, and he might like choclate bars a little too much. And his decision to advertise the Nintendo fan club – no, wait. It's club Nintendo now, isn't it? – still annoys me. But when he's in the gym, ready to start training, he gets serious, big time. He really pulls out all the stops- there's hardly a exercise we don't use. We don't do any of that flexing stuff Super Macho Man does, though. It's just pure hard work.

Oh, that bike rumour? Oh yeah, I heard about that! No, Doc didn't try to steal my bike. What happened was Doc was trying to make me go jogging in a pink jumpsuit "to encourage me to run faster." But I'm telling Doc that I don't care how fast it makes me run or how many times Rocky wears it, I ain't wearing pink. So he grabs my bike and says if I don't get running, my bike's going to the pawnshop! I chased him all over New York, until I realised he wasn't even heading towards the pawnshop. Man, those were some fun times… we still go running around New York, and I still have to wear the pink stuff. But Doc would like to make it clear he does not steal bikes! He gets a little cranky over that joke, actually. But he does like riding bikes… thought why he doesn't get one of his own confuses me.


	2. Chapter 2

So you want to talk about my career so far? Okay. Want me to start at the beginning? Sure.

So at first, I was in the minor circuit, and my first match was against Glass Joe. We can all guess how that went.

The problem with Glass Joe is… well, he just doesn't train. I mean, you'd think he'd take some exercise or drink some protein shake, but he doesn't. He just thinks if he goes in with a good fighting spirit, he'll stand a chance. He won't. You can't be an ordinary Joe in the ring; you have to be someone who's prepared to fight. Every time I punched the guy, he looked like he'd just walked in on his wife making love with his best friend. And his punches- well, they're pretty average when they hit, but that's the problem- they don't. Glass Joe just takes too much time to go on the attack, and he can't block to save his life. Joe, kudos for you for going on after 99 losses, I'm sure that's inspiration to us all, but for god's sake at least practice boxing before you get in the ring. Oh, and tell your country Mac says, "Thanks for the fries." I love those fries.

Huh?

You mean French fries aren't French? Why they called French fries then? Aw, hell, next question.

Von Kaiser? Oh, that crazy army guy! Man, that was a match to remember. The guy's defence is a bit sketchy, needs some work on that, but he was my first solid opponent. Guy's a bit, um, unstable in the head, mind you. He was shaking like a rag doll between rounds… Doc was telling me that he has a phobia of children. Apparently he used to work at the military academy- no surprises there – as a boxing teacher. But now days he has to teach children instead of soldiers, and cause he's not allowed to hit children, he has to let kids beat the crap of him. Must have been one low blow to the ego. And I must have looked like a child to him, cause he kept shouting things like "Mommy!" during the fight. Man, if he was that scared, he must have had some serious steel in him to keep fighting.

Still, it was an easy fight. Making bullet noises every time you jab isn't exactly the best attack plan I've ever seen, and jogging on the spot isn't the best defensive stance either. I think the guy should get counselling before he gets back in the ring.

What's that? Star punch? Oh yeah, Von Kaiser was the first person to get a star punch! So you want to know about my trademark? Sure, why not!

It was during that fight that I discovered my trademark. I had just given old Vons the old one-two, and he was hiding his face behind his fists, and I was waiting for an opening just like the good Doc told me. Suddenly, he lowers his left hand to reveal his face, pokes his head out and cries "Mummy!" Back then, I thought he was taunting me, so I just sucker punch him. The crowd roars like it just got 1000 volts sent up there asses, and bang! I get a big surge of adrenaline. I feel like someone just put the spotlight and declared "This guy is awesome! Look at this guy, who is awesome, unlike the other guy, who is not." So I'm confident, and I decide to show off a bit, so I crouch down and do a big uppercut. The next thing that ran through mind was "Holy shit, this guy's feet just left the floor!"

I really surprised everyone with that move. The crowd was like "whoa!" the Doc was like "hot damm!" and old Vons was like "NEIN!"

Naturally, Doc wanted me to master this kind of punch, so after the match we went back to the gym and we tried to use it on a dummy so we could work on it. But… when I tried to do it again, it just didn't come. Sure, I can do an ordinary uppercut, but those were small time compared to my star punch. We nearly stayed up all night trying to figure it out, and the end Doc figured that the adrenalin shot I had in the ring must have some thing to do with it. So Doc just had a long talk about it, and just said stuff about using it only when I needed it. Afterwards I found that I only get that kind of adrenaline when I do something cool, like when I hit someone when they least expect it or interrupt a taunt, that kind of stuff. So while I'm always on the defence, if I think I can get that shot, I'm gonna take a chance. We call it the star punch cause I can use it when I'm undoubtedly the star. I lose the adrenaline when I'm hit, you see, so I gotta keep myself on a roll.

There are three types of star punches. First one is the one-star punch, which looks just like a normal uppercut without the crouching. Second is the two-star punch, which is the same, except I twist myself round and pull my "fighting face", as Doc calls it. And finally, the fan fave, the three-star punch, which is the big jumpy-spinning punch everyone goes ape-shit over. Doc doesn't like the three-star one, says it's too fancy, but it's my strongest punch, so I just ignore him when he starts moaning about it.

So where were we? So after Von Kaiser was taken out, we had… oh god, Disco Kid.

I… I honestly do not know where to start with him. I mean, he was posing and swinging his fists around like it was the seventies again. It was ridiculous! It was more like a retarded dance-off than a boxing match! He even brought a freaking disco ball with him! The guy's obsessed with dancing!

Okay, maybe being a good dancer might help you dodge attacks and be quick on your feet. But it's completely useless when you actually tell the guy you're fighting you're about to punch him! "Here it comes, Mac! Here it comes!" Gee, thanks, Disco Kid, let me thank you for giving away your attack by giving you a Mac-flurry on the house. That hook wasn't even that hard to dodge! Okay, I may have got hit the first few times, but that was before I realised I had to dodge towards Disco Kid to get out of its path. And his jabs- he just leaves himself wide open! The guy needs to stop showing off and start trying to fight without shouting out loud "Here it comes!" Jeez, even Super Macho Man had a good attack and defence at least. How did Disco Kid get ranked higher than Von Kaiser, anyway? Surely old Vons isn't that bad…

And then I went up against King Hippo for the minor circuit belt. Oh yeah. Now THAT was a damm good fight.

It was, I admit, a nightmare for me in the first round. At first I just thought: "Oh good, he's a real big guy, I'll be able to punch him easily." That was then I discovered is REALLY good at blocking. King Hippo may be one heel of a fat-ass, but he is one of the best defence experts in the WVBA I've meet so far. I was trying to hit him on the stomach, on the head, even on the side, but King H just blocked them all like beach balls. So after I got myself punished for being an impatient attacker, I went back to my usual tactics- dodging attacks, and then punishing them.

So when I found myself on the mat, I started panicking.

The rest of that match was me desperately dancing around King H's attacks, trying to get a hit in, getting tired, and then getting a wake-up call courtesy of King H's fists. It was embarrassing, it was stupid, and if I knew what I do know now about King H, it would have gone very differently.

For the first time in my life, I was doubting my skills as a boxer. It was terrifying.

When the bell rang to signal the end of the round, I was almost in tears. I went up to Doc and said, "Help me, Doc! I can't win!" and Doc says, "Yes you can, Mac! You just hit him in his weak spot! Just hit him in the belly!" And I told him I had tried that, but his defence was impregnable. So Doc takes a bite of his chocolate, seems to think a bit, and says, "Mac, King Hippo's defence is good, but it's not perfect. If you want to get past it, you need to shut King Hippo's big mouth for me!"

And I just said "Doc… I don't know what that means."

And Doc just smiles and tells me "It'll make sense when I'm in the ring." Then he thumps me in the shoulder a bit, and BING! It's round two. And I go out there, having no idea what the hell I'm gonna do.

King Hippo is smiling at me like he's gonna eat me alive, and I just pray Doc knows what he's talking about. We just stared at each other at first, waiting for the other to make his move. Then King H raises his left fist to punch me… and suddenly, I realise his mouth is open. _Wide open_. I had one of those Zen moments, where I just had this vision of Doc standing on a mountain saying, "_Shut his mouth, Mac. You can do it. Just hit his belly._" And for some reason there was a monkey wearing a tie, but that's something I don't need to talk about. And at that moment, it all came crystal clear why King H was only a minor circuit champ.

And then I learned that wasting time on Zen moments only gets you a free punch from Hippo-face. But that didn't matter, I knew that I could beat King Hippo, and I knew how to it. I dodged his next move, a jab, and when he pulled a face when he realised he had missed, I fed his fat mouth a good old knuckle sandwich.

And then his trunks fell down. The crowd laughed. Poor Hippo was clearly embarrassed and dumfounded by this sudden exposure. He's got some nice boxers, I can tell you. For a second, I was gonna take pity on him and let him pick his trunks back up, but then I remembered that this guy had been walloping me silly a few minutes ago, so… He became the human punching bag.

The rest of the fight went on like that, him opening his mouth to attack, me closing it, and his belly taking the punishment afterwards. Then he starts getting angry, and starts trying to hit be with both fists at the same time. Thankfully I could see I couldn't dodge out of this one, so I ducked instead. Ka-boom-tish. But when I saw that attack, I saw an opportunity. When he lifted his arms up, he was leaving himself wide open, but he took a step back. If I ran in and hit him, I could get myself a star punch. But if I messed up, I would be in a world of pain. Could I really take the risk, I asked myself?

Hell yeah.

So when King Hippo decided to try it a second time, I ran in. It all happened in slow motion. I could hear the crowd gasp; I could hear Doc cry "No! Mac!" and I could see King H wonder what exactly I was doing. And then I punched him.

I didn't get that adrenaline surge I use for my star punch, but boy did that punch wind King H! He fell back all the way onto the ropes, and his crown was knocked clean off! That must have really pissed him off, because he lunged back and tried the same attack again… which is kinda stupid when you think about.

So, with one last punch, King Hippo was staggered back… and he bends the ropes so far he falls out of the ring! I apologize for any people injured by King H's fall, but I can't do anything about that. And then BLAM! The crowd goes nuts, Doc's hugging me, the ref congratulates me, and suddenly I'm holding the minor circuit belt.

And from that point on, I knew that size didn't matter. Everyone had their weaknesses, and I was going to exploit them. I was going to hit the major circuit, and do the boys in the Bronx proud.


	3. Chapter 3

The major circuit took me by surprise, I admit. Doc kept telling me not to get distracted by the TV cameras, but I had seen the major circuit on TV before and I figured it didn't look as intense as Doc made it out. But when you're actually under the camera… It felt amazing. The TV doesn't do the ring justice. Sure, we had a lot of spectators back in the minor circuit, but when you're in the major circuit ring, you get a feeling of stardom you just can't get from a ordinary packed gym. When I entered for the first time, the first thing I thought was "Jesus, those lights are bright!" The second thing I thought was "Holy crap, I really am on TV." I had to stop myself from saying "Hello Mom!"

Anyway, my introduction to the major circuit was Piston Honda… wait, what? He's changed his name to Hondo? He got fed up with the car crash jokes, huh? I think the guy's over-reacting, but hey, if that's what he wants…

So, old Honda… I mean Hondo, is actually a decent guy, and quite a good boxer. I hear he's good quite an intense training regime, and you can see that come out in the ring. It must have done him a lot of good, cause he had only one loss on his record before I showed up… I'm telling you, that guy is heading for the world circuit. But he does have his faults, mind. In fact, I've had lot of complaints about what they call "the punch of dishonour." Look, the guy had bowed before the fight started, so there was no need for a second bow. And when I see an opening, I punch away, so yes, I did punch Hondo while he was bowing on purpose. I know the Japanese don't take that kind of thing kindly, but this is the USA, this is boxing, and this is not about taking turns like some game of chess. When you go in the ring, you always have to be switched on. Piston Hondo thought the world revolved around the rules he lived with, but the rules are different in the ring. I'll apologise for it, but I honestly say if he does it again, everyone, including me, will go for it. Bowing is taunting in my eyes, and I will punish it with the old Mac-standard: a sucker punch. I'm sorry, that's just how it works around here.

Seriously though, does that guy have some kind of politeness addiction? He keeps bowing all the damm time. He needs to get a grip on it.

And another thing he needs to get a grip on is his eyebrows. But that should be easy, seeing how big and hairy they are. Heck, they even look like Velcro. Ha!

But seriously, his eyebrows keep twitching almost every time he attacks. Between rounds people were asking "Dude, you're reading him like a book! How do you do that?" (Which is kinda ironic, because I prefer watching TV to reading.) And I was saying "Come on! You can't tell you can't see his big old eyebrows moving! You'd have to blind to miss it!" But apparently some people don't have an eye for detail. Hell, I swear to Rocky that I can actually hear them make a "doink doink" sound when they move!

Anyway, that was the fight that grabbed everyone's attention. Thanks to Hondo's bowing and his eyebrow problem, I was throwing star punches left and right and all over the place, and I TKO-ed Piston Hondo in 2 minutes. It was madness, it was awesome, it was the kind of thing Doc claimed he used to do. I remember the guys in the Bronx running into my house to show me the paper, and I was right there on the front page, serving up a Mac-flurry to Piston Hondo, with the headline declaring "UNDERGOG GIVES TKO TO MAN FROM TYOKO!" Doc got excited about that, and for a while we couldn't stop from going on about how this was what it was like in the old days. We finally managed to stop him when we gave him a chocolate bar.

And then there was… Oh, Bear Hugger! That guy is real nice. Bit of a messy eater, especially with syrup, but he's just such a good guy outside the ring. I hear he actually trained an ACTUAL BEAR to TRAIN HIM for boxing. I mean, wow, the guy's real good with animals! And he's a lumberjack to boot. If I ever give up the boxing gloves, I gonna join him chopping down trees. He's cool.

But in that match… he was very… loud.

"I'M GONNA STOMP YA!!!" "NEED A HUG?!?" "LET'S DANCE!!!" Jesus, the guy's a freaking lunatic in the ring. He can hit hard and fast, but if you can't see it coming – or rather, hear it coming – you're just blain deaf, blind, or have a bag over your head. And then he pulls faces and starts dancing for no reason other than the hell of it… I don't even think the guy even takes it seriously. I like the guy, but I think he should stick to the trees.

Then we had Great Tiger. I'm actually concerned about this guy. I mean, he's obviously quick in the ring, but is that because of his feet or his magic? It worries me, because if it's the magic, what we have is a guy using it to get somewhere where he shouldn't be. I mean, I can handle having him disappear, floating around and making clones of himself (it's not like I'll mistake a see-through one for the real thing, dumbass.), but teleporting? That's like me using my bike in the actual ring. If you start doing boxing, it should because you're good with your fists, not because you've got the magic gem of chicken marssarila which gives you freaking superpowers. If he can fight without magic, good for him, but otherwise he needs to take a leaf out of Spiderman's book and stop boxing and start fighting crime instead. I mean, surely there are better uses of magic than boxing? I mean, the guy could put David Blaine out of business. Why's he using it to get into a boxing ring? Its just overkill, that's what it is.

But then again, his magic does have its disadvantages. I mean, that big blinking jewel is a big giveaway when it comes to his attacks. And his special I'll-split-into-two-so-you-can't-possibly-tell-which-one-is-the-real-me-honest attack? After you dodge it, he really leaves himself wide open. I got him tamed pretty quickly. But if he is a big cheater (or should that be cheetah? He does make a lot of cat jokes, after all.) who's a total pussy without his magic, I'll de-claw him next time I fight with him.

The major circuit title fight against Don Flamenco was fun, I'll say. Well, it wasn't fun for the Don, I guess, but I had the time of my life in that fight. The Don liked to dance, and boy did I tango him.

The Don's strategy is kinda like mine. When I first got in the ring with him, he was saying things like "Toro! Toro!" and I thought he was just taunting me, so I took a shot at him. To my surprise, Don actually knows what he's doing, and he dodges it and takes a shot back at me. Come to think of it, it's similar to my strategy, minus all that Spanish crap. Learn from the best, huh?

Anyway, the old Don's got a lot of moves on him- I guess he learnt something from dancing with the ladies. (You hear that, Disco Kid? LADIES? That's something you're not getting if you don't stop grooving and start acting like a normal person for once.) So I did hit quite a lot, but I adapted. That's what I'm like – you keep firing away, but I'll figure you out sooner or later. But man, the best bit was knocking off the toupee. I mean, come on Don, I know you didn't expect me to be that good, but (A) you should never underestimate me, and (B) if you want to keep your toupee on, wouldn't it be a good idea to avoid contact sports? It's not like you can put superglue on it, that's for sure. Seriously, once when I was in the Bronx during April fool's, somebody put superglue in my hair, and it hurt like freaking hell. That sucker got a little lesson on what not to do with hair that night, I can assure you.

Anyway, Don got really pissed off, and started throwing attacks at me like no tomorrow. Naturally, I take advantage of this, but Don's so angry I can hardly stun him, let alone get a Mac-flurry in. But then I realised every time I hit him, he would stagger back to get away from me, and then come back. But when he did come back, he would drop his defence and leave his face wide open. So when he staggered back, I hit him again, and he repeated his staggering act, except he covered up his face, but he left his body open for attack. So I hit him again, and before I knew it, the process repeated itself over and over again. I had used Don's staggering to trap him into a never-ending attack he couldn't escape, and it wasn't long before I danced him till he dropped. The count to 10 that night had never been so satisfying. I had shown the ladies man that it takes more than style to win; it takes skill, grit and heart. And as I held the major circuit belt in my hands, I knew where I had to go next.

It was time to show the world circuit what the Bronx was made of.


	4. Chapter 4

When I told Doc I wanted to go onward to the world circuit… Let's say that "surprised" would be an understatement.

Doc obviously didn't expect me to be so eager to hit the world circuit. He took me aside and gave be a big ass talk about it: He asked me if I was sure about this, whether if it would better if I stayed behind in the major circuit to get some experience, and then he talked about how the world circuit would put a lot of pressure on me, and how losing live on worldwide TV could be very humiliating for me, but in the end I just told Doc I was very sure and very much ready to make boxing history. He just smiled, slapped me on the back and said "That's the spirit, son."

Honestly, sometimes Doc acts so much like my parents, it's uncanny.

But I have to say, the world circuit ring is shiny as hell. The goddamm hall it's in is made of freaking gold. They've got statues everywhere… and the publicity you get with the circuit is freaking insane. There's businessmen trying to get you to sponsor shoes, and there's always the threat of fan girls, no matter where you go…. Sorry ladies, but Mac is already taken!

Anyway, my big introduction to the world circuit was Aran Ryan. That was a crazy-ass fight for a crazy-ass guy.

The guy's got some good running legs, that's for sure. Through the whole match, he was running about the ring, keeping away from me until he wanted to attack, and I couldn't keep up with him. That got me kinda worried, cause usually I'm the fast one, and if I can't use my speed, what can I do? I tried the old dodge-and-counter, but that didn't stun him long enough for me to get a good hit in. I was stumped again.

Well, good old Doc saved the day. As I sat down to wait for round 2, I told him that I couldn't find a way to get irish-boyo to stay still. And Doc, casual as always, just takes a bite of his favourite chocolate bar and says: "Join club Nintendo today, Mac!"

After I gave Doc a slap for messing around, he says: "This guy's fast, so what you gotta do, Mac baby, is beat him to the punch! Beat him to the punch, Mac! You can do it! Just beat him to the punch! You got it!"

I pondered what the hell Doc meant by that for a few seconds, and then inspiration hit me just as the bell rang for the next round.

As me and irish-boyo got back in the ring, Aran told me to "Keep hitting me, Mac! I love it!" Boy, did I make him eat those words.

As Aran dashed forward to punch me, I did exactly as Doc said: I beat him to the punch. Or rather, the punching. I rushed in before he hit me and countered him, stunning him long enough for me to get a Mac-flurry in. It wasn't long before he fell down like a drugged leprechaun.

I'll tell you a funny thing about Aran: for such a reckless, crazy guy, his actions are kinda superstitious. He always gets up at seven, he only bothers to break out of the Mac-flurry after seven punches, and I've heard rumours that he puts lucky horseshoes in his gloves. If that's true, I'm going to have to pay his locker a visit, as there's no way I'll let shit like that slide. That stuff better make him lucky, cause I'll never let him get away with that. Maybe I'll bring a black cat into the ring next time I fight him, see how he likes that.

Anyway, for all of Aran's dirty cheating, he sure does have a thick resistant skull. I should know, cause the first thing that Irish nutter did when he got up was bounce off the ropes and headbutt me. Freaking jerk.

The timing for dodging that move was tricky, but I got the hang of it after a few bruises. But as the fight went on, it started to bug me that I couldn't counter it. Aran didn't leave himself open when he missed; he just quickly regained his balance and started running around again before I could catch him. If I tried to block, he would simply force his head through my gloves. It was too risky to try and punch him when he came flying at me, but there had to be a way to punish him for it…

Thankfully, as Doc asked me what my favourite protein shake flavour was while I waited for round three, I came up with an idea. As I had expected, as soon as round 3 started, Aran tried his headbutt again, but this time, just before he hit, I brought my gloves up to block. Just as I planned, Aran's thick head bounced off the top of my gloves, leaving him stunned and in the perfect position to take my star punch.

And boy, did he take it! He flew right into the ropes and managed to get tangled up in them! I won by the fight by default, but I don't think Aran could have recovered from that. I distinctly remember hearing something snapping… But hey, with his attitude, it was only a matter of time before he broke his bones.

So after I got Aran on the ropes, it was time to face Soda Popinski. I hear some haters call him "Vodka Drunkenski", but I'm not the kinda guy who calls people names. But I can see where they're coming from…

Actually, I think Soda-man is suffering from what my girlfriend says is the "placebo effect", cause after the fight my boys in the Bronx managed to get hold of Soda's drinks… and they just turned out to be regular orange drinks. No alcohol at all! Either the guy doesn't know what he's drinking, or sugar is really rare in Russia. The guy is completely out of it in the ring…

But anyway, Soda put up a good fight. His uppercuts did keep taking me by surprise, but I got the hang of it eventually. In fact, I couldn't help noticing that Soda-man hasn't a lot of variety in him. It's all uppercuts and hooks, and I can dodge them all by stepping to the left. I mean, that's a major problem if it's so predictable! The Doc would not approve at all.

Of course, there were problems in taking him down, like his tendency to pull a "Popeye recovery" with his drink every time he went down, and the fact I kept forgetting Soda's a leftie, not a rightie. But in the end, it's his anger problems that finished him off. Every time he got up or got star punched or got stopped from drinking his stupid orangeade, he'd go completely bonkers over it and do this stupid barrage of alternating uppercuts that was completely predictable and easy to counter. And as I got stars for punching away his soda bottles, he did this quite a lot. Maybe if he stopped holding them out for me to punch, we might have put on a good fight, but no, he had to keep on taunting me, didn't he? Next time, Soda, please take me seriously and concentrate on the fight, not on your stupid "liquid courage" shit.

And then it was onto the match everyone remembers: Bald Bull. Did that guy really get his shiny head from an over-enthusiastic barber? Cause I keep hearing this kind of things in the streets, and I can't help but wonder if it's true. But back on topic: Bald Bull was famous. I knew him from the TV long before I joined the WVBA, Doc had fought with him in the last legs of his career, and he had made himself well known for his extreme strength and temper. This showdown was destined to be up close and personal from the start.

Bald Bull seemed to be a little crazy at the start: I mean, banging your head on the posts can't be good for your health, man. But in the ring, he's a lot more controlled. Sure, he does put up aggressive fight, but he can defend pretty well too.

I do admit that I got messed up in the beginning, those rolling jabs kept making me dodge too early, and Bald Bull would punish me for it. His hook was easier to avoid, but his uppercut was harder. His shouting did help me avoid it, mind. Does no one in this boxing league keep quiet?

But Bald Bull does have a good defence. My hits hardly stunned him at times, and don't even bother aiming for his gut. It's obviously a weak point of his, but if you hit it, he just stagger away choking before you can get a another shot at it. And his head is quite resistant, but then again it is built like some sort of giant marble. Hell, if you get the timing right you can even get a few more punches in because he's too busy trying to stop his head vibrating like a gong.

Anyway, Bald Bull was similar to Soda Popinski in that he could have had given a better fight if he hadn't thrown it all away on his trademark move. I mean, bringing out the "bull charge", as he calls it, was completely stupid. Anyone who watches the sports channel knows how to counter it, and even if I didn't know how, Doc was on hand to tell me. Now they say that in the ring the pressure makes it harder to counter, especially with Bull being all intimidating and the fact that you could be knocked down in one shot. But I'm made from the Bronx stuff, and I don't get intimidated. I just pulled back and got ready to end the fight.

As Bull came charging down the ring, a little voice in the back of my head said "Um, guys? This looks kinda dangerous. Maybe we should, you know, move out the way?"

Of course, my mind simply responded with: "Naaaaaaah."

And just as Bald Bull crouched down to uppercut me to the floor, I swung a damm big hook into his gut. And like that, it was like King Hippo all over again: Bald Bull clutched at his gut, staggered around the ring, and then collapsed on the floor like a wooden plank. I knew that Bald Bull wasn't getting up- I've got a sixth sense for those kinda things- so I went over to Doc and told him to ring subway so they could fix me a victory sandwich. With fries, of course.

And then… I came face to face with Super Macho Man.

I. HATE. THAT. GUY.

I genuinely cannot express my hate for this guy. He's a poser, an idiot, a rich bastard who treats everyone else like shit, and his ego is bigger than his stupid California. I simply had to beat the crap out of his guy. Especially after his pec-flexing, that was just… just… oh, god, I'm feeling sick just from thinking about it.

I will admit, Macho Moron is fast. And his muscle aren't just for show, they hit just as hard as Bald Bull's. But he is a poser, even in the ring, so that helped me a lot. But at least he can attack quickly, unlike Disco Nut.

The fight was tricky, and I did get knocked down once or twice, but what really threw me off track for a while was his godamm spinning punch. I kept forgetting that I couldn't dodge that hook; I had to duck under it. But my damm muscle memory kept playing up. But I had to keep going, as I was never going to go back to the Bronx without pummelling Macho face into submission.

But it wasn't all bad. Here, look at this photo. That's me… and that's Macho Man at the end of my fist. In the middle of the match, that stupid self-absorbed idiot decided to pose for a photo op. As you can see, I think I gave him quite the money shot. Man, I gotta send this to Oxford. Next you look up the definition of "owned", you're going to find this picture.

I think it was in the third round that I managed to put Macho Moron down. He had started his big gay "SUPER…MACHO…MAN!!!" dance, and I remember that Doc had told me earlier that "when Super Macho Man strike his "super pose", he's going to come at you with nothing but spinning punches. Keep your head down!" Right there I came up with an idea. I ducked under the first punch, but instead of staying down and waiting for him to snap out of his frenzy, I popped my head up again. Just as I thought, he threw another spinning punch… and another… and another… until eventually, he just got too dizzy to defend himself, just like I planned. And like that, I gave him the beat down reserved for the VIPs. He tried to sway out of my Mac-flurry, but I managed to bounce him back and forth till he collapsed like a total prima donna. I hope his paychecks bounce for the next few weeks, cause this world needs less people like him.

And that's the story so far. In a couple of days I'm up against the world champ, Mr Sandman. The guy looks like he might put up a good fight. That won't stop me from beating him silly, mind.

What? What are you looking at me like that for? Yes, I am sure I can beat him. What, you think I can't beat him just because I'm short, is that it?

Yes, I know that he's gone undefeated in 31 matches. Yes, I know some of his former opponents have gone into comas after a bout with him. Hell, I even hear he visits their hospital units just to point and laugh at them. What a jerk! How does that guy sleep at night?

He has insomnia?

Oh. Makes sense, I guess.

Well, let me tell you why I will win. You listening? The reason I will win is because I have heart and he doesn't. He just fight for money, fame, and because he's a big freaking bully. You guys are just too scared to stand up to him. But I'm not like that. You know what I fight for? I fight for my boys in the Bronx, and I can tell you that I am not going to let them down. Bronx is where real men are made, and I am gonna prove it to you, me, Doc, Mr Sandman and the whole wide world. And no matter how much sand Mr Sandman throws in my eyes, I'm gonna stay up late till I get the job done. I'm a hard worker. I'll sleep when I'm dead, man.

Well, that's all I've got to say. What does Mr Sandman say about me?

Say what now?

HE CALLED ME A WHAT?!?

That son of a…

Excuse me, people. I'm afraid I'm leaving early now… I gotta call up the Doc; tell him it's time to get real serious. There's no way he'll diss me like that… but before I go, stick this in your newspaper…

Mr Sandman? Prepare for the wake-up call from hell. Little Mac is coming, and he's gonna give you a dream that you can only wish you could forget…


End file.
